


Teeth

by sinners_sandwich



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-31
Updated: 2015-08-31
Packaged: 2018-04-18 05:05:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4693121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinners_sandwich/pseuds/sinners_sandwich
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On ways to reassure a prideful man. (Dean/Roman)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Teeth

**Author's Note:**

> I took some liberties here, and hm-- not honestly too happy w/this one but hey, it's a story... about a blow job. Very deep..

It's not about control.

Dean's pacing, and he can feel eyes on him. He crosses from one side of the room, to the other, never stepping too far from the man sitting on the edge of the bed beside him, not getting too close either. He gnaws a bit on his knuckles, drums fingers against his collarbone, chews into a different knuckle, then bites his thumbnail.

"Dean."

Dean glances in Roman's direction, but not directly at him, before looking away and resuming his fidgeting; bare feet stepping back and forth across carpet, teeth leaving pinkish dents in the worn skin of his knuckles.

Dean does a lot of shit to cover up his intentions. This is just how he operates. When it comes down to it, he considers himself to have a few, well, soft spots, let's say--that he's not so sure exist in many of his peers.

But Dean's not here to win titles, not _really_. He's got an itch to prove himself, but it doesn't matter how. He's in it now, as he always has been, for the fights. For good times and bad times, to not be alone and not be bored, most of all.

"What's on your mind, huh?" Roman tries again, and this time Dean meets his eyes, gives a distant sort of grin and a wink, something that's definitely more dismissive than anything else. Which he realizes after the fact, as it earns him one not-so-pleased look from Roman.

Well, what can he say? He's nervous, he's thinking, that's it, that's how he gets, isn't it? Though he doesn't blame Roman for getting impatient cause he's not sure exactly how long he's _been_ thinking and pacing.

While Roman sits there, shirtless, with his hands tied snug behind his back.

Right.

Dean shoots him another grin, paying more attention to the scene in front of him now.

"You okay, Dean?"

"--yeah, yeah, man. I'm good. All here." He clears his throat. There's things he'd rather not say, though. That despite Roman being fine, Dean doesn't particularly like the idea of anything locked around his _own_ wrists, because he's been there, done that, and with a lot less of Roman's knowing grins and a lot more gunfire and law enforcement involved.

Being in his own thoughts, there's too much, well, aloneness. So if it's nothing to do with a fight, he doesn't make shit about him, by preference and choice.

Roman doesn't look convinced of Dean's words, but at the very least Dean's in a position of slight advantage here, and he taps a finger to Roman's cheek to reassure him he is _fine_.

Which he is. Fine. And very much more interested in this (the slight droop of Roman's eyelids when Dean touches him that tiny bit) than wherever his mind was wandering to.

He can work with this.

 

* * *

 

Despite the requisite moment of unease, there's a comfortable air between them now.

Roman's sitting back against the headboard, his legs stretched out in front of him, his wrists still tied snug behind his back, and Dean's sitting cross-legged just before him. Also shirtless, but nothing more; looking through the sweep of hair that sits across his vision and holding Roman's eyes.

Roman stares, breathing steady. Dean smiles.

"Y'know--there's a lot of stuff you can do to a guy when his hands are tied behind his back," Dean comments, his tone conspiratorial--and though he plays it off like he's working up to some spectacular point, he's just looking for Roman's thoughts. Roman's at least sort of turned on, he's aware by the little signs, and Dean thinks it's funny how Roman can get riled up from almost nothing at all. Funny in a good way.

"Yeah, s'pose there is," Roman grants him. Unhelpful.

Dean laughs, drumming his fingers against his shins, and leans in closer to him, watching as Roman keeps a close eye on him without giving Dean the satisfaction of him drawing back.

"But don't worry! Don't worry." Dean says in a lowered tone that's somehow light, grinning while Roman just stares at him. There's a certain defiance about Roman Reigns, no matter what the situation, that he _loves_. "I'm not gonna be mean to you or anything. Wouldn't be right of me to take advantage of this wonderful gift." His hand pats the side of Roman's face in a patronizing manner, cause damn if he can resist the small opportunities to earn Roman's scowl.

Roman seems to know better than to think he's going to stop there, keeping silent--so Dean goes on. "Unless, of course, you _wanted_ me to do nasty, unspeakable things to you. And, hey, if that's the case.. you should probably ask first."

A mirthless grin springs to Roman's lips, and he's nodding, slight little jerks of his head; that perfect way he has of warning you you're about to get hit in the face. Which Dean is sure he would've done if he had his hands available.

Dean leans in just that bit more to press his grinning lips to Roman's jaw. He's half expecting a headbutt, but Roman's more forgiving of the teasing than usual and simply turns his head to press his nose against Dean's temple. Lets him off with a warning.

"Guess that answers that," Dean murmurs.

 

* * *

 

It's never been about control.

It's not a power rush he gets out of this, cause truth be told, being responsible for things--for anything, let alone something he cares about--is far from Dean's favorite thing in the world.

And he knows if it were any different, if the idea of getting Roman Reigns on his knees and helpless for him just so happened to be a thing that gave Dean his kicks and made his dick hard, this would never be allowed between them in the first place.

Roman's got pride. Maybe a little too much of it, but he's always held to what he's got pride in and Dean respects that, never questioned it in his life. There's enough of those fun folks out there that want Reigns on his knees anyway, and Dean knows Roman knows it, probably more than he wants to let on. So Roman might as well know without a doubt Dean isn't one of 'em.

It's not an outright sexual moment, Dean sitting there looking at Roman, Roman looking back. But there's a sort of intimacy in one trusting the other enough to sit there with his hands bound, and it charges the air between them.

"Damn, look at you," Dean finally says. "I need to spend more time just _looking_ at you, if we're, uh, if we're bein' all honest here."

Roman seems bemused. "Not right now, I hope."

"Getting impatient?" Dean sing-songs, and smiles again when Roman's lips purse out, expectant.

Dean gets up on his knees and walks over on them 'til he's up close in Roman's space, looking down at him--his fingers rake through Roman's hair, and Roman looks up at him for a long moment before closing his eyes and leaning his forehead against Dean's stomach.

"Talk to me, Roman." Dean's voice has fallen soft, probing. Because he knows the things that _aren't_ the reason why Roman's asked him to do this, but he doesn't know the reason itself.

Roman just gives a sigh, a warm breath against Dean's skin that sends little pricks of awareness along Dean's lower half. "Dunno," he says shortly. A pause, then, "Just tired. Didn't wanna be bothered with anything today." The slight rub of his forehead against Dean's skin says he thinks Dean will understand.

And Dean does. Well, he thinks he does, as well as you can understand a guy who doesn't ever say much to lead on to his thoughts. Someone's gotten into Roman's head, probably, someone's made him think he doesn't deserve what he's got or where he is, and Roman doesn't think fighting is the way to clear his head this time.

Weird how you can ask to be tied up in order to feel in control, but the two of them, well, they play by their own rules.

Dean doesn't ask any more questions, never really caring to dive into details with him--when Roman wants something, Dean usually gives it to him, cause the guy is far from demanding. He takes the signal when Roman starts pressing lazy kisses along the hem of Dean's pants, and he reaches down to slip his belt free, then undo the rest.

Roman doesn't really put any more space between them, kissing lazy and slow over Dean through the fabric of briefs. He almost seems content, invested. _Interested._ Which Dean finds curious--always curious--because he's never known Roman to really like the idea of dick in his mouth.

But it's not by Dean's urging, in any way, that Roman's grabbing the elastic waistband between his teeth to tug it down and out of his way, aggressively. Dean chews his own lip, his eyes lingering on Roman's face as lips travel along the length of him, beard chafing him in a way that makes _some_ kind of feeling spread through tensed muscle.

 

* * *

 

Roman's a lot of things, but 'shy' ain't one of 'em. And it's more the surprise that turns Dean on than anything, the unexpected effort Roman puts into doing this; sucking eagerly, drawing back only to drop back inward, tuned into Dean's reactions enough that when a grunted praise slips from Dean's mouth, Roman lets him in deep enough that he almost gags.

Fuck, it's hot. Of course it is. But better still is the look Roman casts up at him when Dean's fingers grip into thick hair and seem to want to try to guide Roman further than what's been allowed.

A dangerous look--along with the very slightest grip of Roman's teeth around him. Dean's eyes nearly roll back from the warning that twists excitement in his gut.

"Ah--ff--ffffuck, yeah." He manages to speak after a few sharp gasps, freeing some tension from his body. Roman hums around him, satisfied that Dean got the message, and resumes what he's doing, something just--something real _fantastic_ , with his tongue.

Dean drops his head back for that little while, nearly losing his sense of where he is. And he's useless for another minute or two, stroking Roman's hair, gripping into his shoulder, touching him in ways that avoid directing or controlling what he's doing.

Then, Roman pulls off him to rotate his jaw, but the way his eyes stay fixed to him makes Dean smile. It's clear he's not done, but neither is Dean, reaching over to grip at Roman's chin with a thumb and two fingers, tipping his head up a bit.

"Mm, Roman."

"Dean," Roman gives back, voice deep.

"You know, what I really--really _love_ about seein' you like this?"

Roman's brows lift, almost imperceptibly, that relentless stare causing Dean's smile to stretch into a grin that dimples his cheeks.

"Like _this_ , big guy. Down here," he gestures to the space Roman occupies partway below him, "hands all tied up."

Dean's guiding himself back against the press of Roman's lips, and teeth catch his own lip at the slight risk he's running here, poking at the big dog where he's sensitive. Roman wants to give him the benefit of the doubt, it seems, which makes it that much nicer when those lips part to let him slide back in against his tongue.

"It's just--damn. It really gets me, y'know?" He lets out a chuckle, then throws his head back in a louder, breathless laugh, lodged just a little further in; "That right--mm, right behind, those nice, pretty lips--is a vicious set of canines, ready to tear through flesh."

He brings his eyes back down and meets Roman's, and he can see it click immediately, satisfaction barely getting a half-second to fill Dean's mind before those teeth sink just a little harder than before into his sensitive skin. It drags the sharpest moan out of him, causes his gut to tighten up and his back to arch inward, instinctively wanting to draw back from the pain.

He's close.

Roman pulls off him, all hesitation or warning lost from his eyes and his posture, his body leaned inward with recognition--of the power he'd lost at someone else's suggestion, returned to him in full by just a few words.

Dean smiles and knocks Roman down against the bed, leans down over him, a rub of his body against Reigns' erection laying the rest of his intentions fully out on the table.

The last words shared: _fuck me_ , growled out from his lips.

 

* * *

 

Dean's exhausted, but he's not sleepy, laid out on the bed with weak legs and a sore ass. The sound of the shower is background to his thoughts, and he chews his lip busily where he lies.

It's not about control, never has been. Roman's about as willing to be controlled or ordered around as Dean is: not willing in the least. In front of an audience, they've been plenty of things. Rivals, brothers, best friends, partners. Off screen, there's a simpler way to put it. Equals.   
  
And Dean wouldn't rob an equal of his power any more than he would want it done to himself.

Arm raised above his head, Dean mutely counts out the slowly fading bite marks all along the inside of it. He makes it his new lucky number.


End file.
